


The Sexual Evolution of Pike Dexter's Heart

by billiethepoet



Category: Big Eden (2000)
Genre: Character Study, Consensual Underage Sex, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billiethepoet/pseuds/billiethepoet
Summary: Pike was 14 when he fell in love.
Relationships: Pike Dexter/Henry Hart, Pike Dexter/OMC
Comments: 15
Kudos: 40





	The Sexual Evolution of Pike Dexter's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> You know what this pandemic needs? Fic for a 20 year old movie, that's what. This was born as a challenge to all the fics where Pike is a virgin. That's totally probable but I wanted to think of a scenario where he wasn't.
> 
> Much thanks to [jadztone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone) for the beta.

Pike was 14 when he fell in love. The glint of sun off a wave of sandy brown hair and a burst of raucous laughter caught his attention from halfway across the football field. Lots of people were laughing and making noise, but something about the boy’s wide smile opened a pit in Pike’s stomach. The boy sat on the bleachers, surrounded by other students and head thrown back with a kind of carefree joy Pike had never experienced. He was supposed to be focused on the football coach, who was explaining the drills they needed to run in their tryout for the junior varsity team, but Pike couldn’t look away. The other boys in the group jostled, threatening to tip _his_ boy off the bleachers, until a set of strong hands settled on his shoulders in a possessive gesture. The boy holding his boy in place was tall, muscular, obviously an athlete, and settled into his body proportions in a way Pike feared he’d never be. His boy’s expression stayed the same but, even at a distance, Pike could see his joy settle into something bittersweet and resigned.

_Oh, he’s like me._

The boys around him jumped to their feet and jogged toward the end zone. Pike followed slowly. He didn’t want to play football anyway, but he’d promised his parents he’d try. 

His boy’s laughter chased him around the field for the better part of an hour. Pike caught glimpses of him through the facemask of a helmet that squashed his ears uncomfortably but when he was finally cut from tryouts, his boy was gone. 

Not that it mattered. Pike would never talk to him. The thought made sweat break out on his hairless upper lip and made his palms clammy. But he could watch him. Not in a creepy way. Pike was just observant. 

It took a few weeks to learn his name: Henry Hart. 

***************

  
Their high school was small, only a couple hundred students, even though it covered all of Glacier county and part of Flattop county. Some folks sent their kids to tribal schools or the private Catholic school down in Kalispell, but most people went to their public school.

That meant that even though Henry was two years above him, Pike saw him both more and less than he wanted to. 

His sophomore year, his class and the seniors had lunch together but Pike could avoid Henry and his friends in the cafeteria. Henry was always surrounded by friends. Always with Dean Stewart who was handsy with the unshakable confidence of a straight boy. No one suspected a thing when Dean looped his arm over Henry’s shoulders or ruffled Henry’s hair. Thinking about that kind of casual touch in public had panic bubbling in Pike’s chest. 

The problem was that Pike was good at math and Henry was not. This meant that Pike spent his sophomore year staring at Henry’s left ear, the line of his neck, and the movement of his hands while he should have been learning precalculus. 

Not focusing on Henry led to a greater disaster than slipping grades. Pike looked away, losing Henry for a moment as they filed out for their next classes. The hallway was crowded and Pike had to take a quick step back to keep from stepping on a freshman. Instead, his back bumped against Henry’s front. 

“Woah,” Henry said, his fingertips briefly brushing Pike’s spine. “Careful.” 

There was no annoyance in his voice, no anger. It was the same warm honeyed sweetness that Pike heard him talk to Dean with. Pike wanted to run but he froze instead. His legs refused to obey the frantic screaming coming from his brain. 

Henry stepped around him, blocking his most direct escape route. They were so close Henry had to lean back to look Pike in the eye. Henry swept the swoop of golden brown hair away from his face as he gazed up. Pike’s fingers ached to do the same. 

“You’re really tall.” Henry said it as if it was a completely new fact. Something previously undiscovered. 

If he were Dean, Pike would tease Henry about being short. He would let himself reach out and touch Henry’s hair or shoulder. If he were braver, he would take Henry’s hand. 

“Yes,” he whispered instead. 

Henry smiled widely and Pike’s stomach swooped. 

“Well, be careful out here.” And then Henry was gone, swallowed into the crowd hurrying to get to class. 

It was embarrassing how often Pike stroked his cock to the memory of Henry looking up at him or to the fantasy that spun from what might have happened if they had bumped into each other in an empty hallway or if Pike found Henry at the lake, swimming alone. Or if Pike were someone else entirely. 

***************

  
Pike dressed in a dark green shirt with snaps topped in fake mother of pearl and black piping across his chest, black Wranglers so stiff they could stand up on their own, and his best black boots with shiny silver tips. He pulled his hair back in a low ponytail because he thought it made him look older.

He kissed his mother on the cheek and took the borrowed truck keys from his daddy’s outstretched hand. They knew he was going to the rodeo in Whitefish. They just expected him to be going to watch the roping and barrel racing. They probably thought he’d meet up with friends from school there. He hoped he wouldn’t see anyone he knew. 

Instead of walking the midway or posting up in the stands to watch the events, Pike loitered near the horse trailers. Nervous sweat prickled against the small of his back, making his undershirt stick. He wiped his palms on his jeans. He should go. This was a stupid idea. Something one of his cousins had said about the rodeo before his mother scowled and ended the conversation. It had been a joke, but not a joke - there was an underlying ugly truth his cousin wanted to get out into the world. Whether to see Pike’s reaction or to let everyone know he was old enough to know that _out by the horse trailers, fags go there_ , Pike wasn’t sure. He’d kept his face blank, acted as if he hadn’t heard, but it was the first time someone other than Henry Hart featured in his fantasies. 

“You come to look at the horses?” 

Pike jumped and took a step back at the voice coming out of the darkness. He took two deep breaths before he felt like he could speak without sounding scared. “No.” 

The man stepped forward and propped a hip against a stack of hay bales. He was shorter than Pike, which was’t surprising. He was young enough that Pike didn’t think it was weird, but old enough that he had a full beard. “What you doin’ back here then?” 

Two more breaths. “I heard…” He faltered. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d heard or how to say it. How could you possibly say something like this to someone else? 

The man laughed. “Oh you heard, huh?” 

He was being laughed at, but only a little. He’d spent the year since Henry Hart left for art school in New York trying to learn how to be teased just in case Henry came back. Just in case they could tease each other like that. 

Pike straightened his shoulders. “Yeah, I heard this was the place to come.” 

“I guess you heard right then.” The man tipped his black stetson back and Pike could finally see his eyes. They were a shockingly bright blue that seemed to look through Pike altogether. “How old are you, kid?” 

“Eighteen,” Pike lied. 

The man pushed off the hay bales and tipped his head toward the next, darker, row of trailers. He turned and walked off without looking back.  
Pike wasn’t sure what to do. He could walk away. He felt like he might throw up. But his cock was half hard in his jeans and this was his chance to find out what sex was all about. If it was bad, if he was bad, he’d never see this man again. If it was good, then he knew it was good and knew he was what he was for sure. 

Pike was quiet and anxious and distrustful of most people but he also never backed down from a promise. He’d promised himself he would do this. 

His legs shook as he stepped deeper into the shadows. It was only because he’d been standing out here, away from the lights of the rodeo proper, that his eyes were adjusted to the dark enough to keep track of the man.

The trailer shifted and the metal clanged under Pike’s weight as Pike followed him into the trailer at the end of this row, farthest from the midway. 

The man settled his hands on Pike’s shoulders. “You kiss?”

He wasn’t sure. He’d thought about kissing Henry enough but did that mean he kissed? 

The man took his silence for a yes and brought their mouths together. He tasted like cigarettes but the slickness of his tongue and rasp of his beard made Pike moan. 

Pike scrambled to grasp the man. His shoulders, his biceps, anything that would keep them close. He accidentally snagged the man’s bottom lip with his teeth in his eagerness. He was about to pull back, to apologize and then run from the trailer, but the man nipped him back. 

“You like it like that?”

Pike had no idea how he liked it. But he didn’t dislike it, that was for sure. 

“My name’s Pike.” 

The man laughed at him again. “You don’t usually tell someone your name doing somethin’ like this.” 

“Oh.” Pike’s embarrassment crawled up his spine like a particularly discomforting spider. 

“I’m Caleb.” 

“Oh.” 

There wasn’t much more talk after that but, for a few blissful seconds at the end, there was no anxiety, no fear, no restlessness in Pike’s soul.  
He snuck back into the house so late it was actually early and prayed his mother didn’t notice how scuffed the knees of his Wranglers were or that he’d lost his best leather hair tie. 

***************

  
Pike could go to Missoula, it was only 150 miles if he took the lake road, and he’d heard there was a bar down there. A club, really, for men like him. Gay men. He was getting better at saying it to himself. He didn’t need to say it to anyone else though. His parents had died a couple years back so it wasn't like there was anyone to tell anyway.

Missoula was too close. He might see someone from Big Eden there. Instead, Pike spent most of his 20s closing the store a little early one Saturday a month and driving five hours across the border to a gay bar in Calgary. There were almost a million people in Calgary. It felt almost anonymous enough to be safe. 

Sometimes he’d have one drink and drive back, feeling lonelier than when he’d left. Sometimes he’d stay until the bar closed and catch a few hours of sleep in his truck at a rest stop along the Crowsnest Highway. Other times, he wouldn’t come home until early the next morning and the store wouldn’t open until after church let out. 

For a while, there was a bartender that took Pike home with him on almost every trip. He was as tall and broad as Pike was. His skin was just as brown and his hair just as sleek and black. 

Pike could talk to him. They laughed in bed. One night, he kept serving drinks to Pike and a few of his friends long after the bar officially closed. His friends were nice. Pike liked them and it wasn’t hard to be with them. It wasn’t hard to be with him. Pike went home with him that night and they just slept in the same warm, cramped bed. 

Over time, the bartender faded away and trips to Calgary became few and far between. The store became more important. The old men who sat out front became his friends. He fished a puppy out of the river and named her Frances. 

***************

  
Grace’s voice rang in his ears but the words were lost somewhere in the buzz. She was introducing Henry Hart, like Pike wouldn’t recognize Henry Hart instantly. He could pick Henry Hart out of a blizzard at a hundred yards even 18 years later. His hands still moved like they had when he was struggling with equations. He scratched the back of his head the same way.

Henry’s hair was thinner, close cropped now instead of the wavy mess it was in high school, but he’d grown into his nose over the years. Pike had grown into his own height. His gangliness had morphed into something broad and strong about the time he finished community college and his parents died. It happened so slowly, he hadn’t noticed.

But now he felt every inch of his too big body, every last nerve pleading with him to run. Even his feet felt ungainly and he moved to get the counter between him and Henry. Anything to put space between them. 

All the space from Montana to New York City hadn’t been enough. 

Henry leaned against the counter that was supposed to protect Pike while Grace explained what they needed. 

“Oh, I don’t, um… I can’t cook,” Henry said, with a sheepish grin that sent Pike’s stomach to his shoes. 

Pike was 34 years old when he knew he was still in love with Henry Hart.


End file.
